


The Special Relationship

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [74]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Bickering, Eventual Smut, Existing Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Teasing, birting, flickering, the red nose diaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: What is it about English boys and American girls?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Neither the sure prevention of war, nor the continuous rise of world organization will be gained without what I have called the fraternal association of the English-speaking peoples ...a special relationship between the British Commonwealth and Empire and the United States." [Winston Churchill]

Considering how aroused Tom was by the sight of Carmen when dressed in formal business attire in the mornings before she left the house to head into the office, it was a shame how little she exploited this preference of his.

Did Carmen know how much she could get out of Tom if she spent just a little more time lingering over breakfast, elbows propped up on the kitchen counter as she stood reading the Financial Times? Bowing slightly at the waist, she would be buttoned up in a suit or a sheath dress with cap sleeves, pearls in the ears, watch on the left wrist, engagement and birthday rings on her ring fingers, and the cherished button pendant hidden under her collar. Tom would sit at the table, drinking coffee and stroking his beard idly all the while wondering how he could drag her back to bed and set to rumpling the primness right out of her.

When she was with them at home, she was present and properly there for Tom and Bobby. But lately she had been spending less time there, and more time at the office. Tom didn’t dare say anything — if anybody knew anything about being apart for long stretches of time due to work obligations, it was him. If Carmen could put up with months-long separations, then Tom could endure a few weeks of her working twelve hour days only a few tube stops away from home.

“Wish me luck?”

Carmen appeared in front of Tom, just on the cusp of half seven in the morning, holding her briefcase in one hand and a pair of black leather pumps in the other. She wore her coat open, ready to be buttoned closed and belted up against the chill of late autumn that waited outside.

Tom, who had been sitting at the kitchen table doing the crossword, got to his feet. He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there while he inhaled the sharp, citrusy scent of her shampoo.

“What am I wishing your luck for?” He murmured.

Even though she didn’t move, lift up her head so she could face him, Tom knew she was scowling.

“I can you feel you scowling at me,” he said.

“Good.” She gently nudged him away, setting her briefcase down on the table so she could press her free hand against his chest. “Now hold still.”

“Whatever for?” Tom asked.

Carmen held up her shoes. “I need you to steady me while I put these things on.”

Tom shook his head. “Allow me.”

Before she could object, Tom knelt before her. He chuckled when Bobby, happy to have someone join him on the kitchen floor, nudged at his master’s side with his wet nose. “Not now, Bobby. We have to help Madame with her shoes.”

“You still haven’t wished me luck, Tom,” said Carmen from above him.

“Hand me a shoe.” Tom placed a hand behind her right knee, pulling towards him just a little to lift her foot off the ground. He kissed her kneecap, then looked up. “What am I wishing you good luck for?”

“Big meeting today, Cambridge,” replied Carmen with a sigh.

“Oh,” said Tom carefully. “Of course.”

“Would you like to know what it’s about?”

“I know what it’s about,” retorted Tom. He plucked the other shoe out of her hand. “It’s, erm, the exchange.”

“And what about it?”

Tom fitted the other shoe onto her left foot, grazing her left kneecap with this lips. He sat back, reaching out with his hands so he could run them up the back of her stocking-clad legs. Up from her ankles, slowly over the calves before coming to a stop behind her knees.

“Tom?” Carmen asked, a lilt in her voice now. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m just thinking, Button.”

“The answer isn’t down there.”

“Between your thighs, love?” Tom asked. “Tsk. I beg to differ.”

“Tom…”

“No whingeing, Carmen.” Tom got back to his feet, resting his hands on Carmen’s hips as he drew up to his full height.

“I’m not whining, Tom,” she retorted. “And you still haven’t wished me luck.”

“Only because I was supposed to tell you the reason.”

“Which you don’t know,” Carmen claimed.

“Oh, but I do,” said Tom. He placed Carmen’s hand in the crook of his left elbow, and grabbed her briefcase before she could take it for herself. Walking her to the door, he took a moment to put on Bobby’s harness and lead then guided them all outside.

They made a sweet picture that morning, Tom and Carmen walking slowly behind the dog who sniffed eagerly at anything and everything on the walk to the tube stop. The air was crisp, full of the sounds of the neighborhood waking up. Buses hissed at their stops, joggers puffed away, and other commuters chattered into mobile phones. Carmen smiled indulgently as Tom proved he actually knew what she needed the luck for and, by extension, that he actually knew what it was that she did for a living.

“The Chicago Mercantile Exchange will begin offering bitcoin-related derivatives once it has reviewed and certified these instruments for trading, and its own capabilities as a venue,” Tom said.

“What else,” Carmen prompted.

“The CME will support the trading of bitcoin futures, while Cantor Fitzgerald’s own exchange has opted to self-certify bitcoin binary options.”

“Go on,” said Carmen, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“While there is the potential for huge gains especially to institutional investors and bitcoin miners…”

“And what do they do?” Carmen asked.

“They verify transactions before adding them to the public ledger, which is known as the block chain,” said Tom confidently. “And while there are concerns about price volatility, as well as the practices of those who would trade in these early markets, futures exchanges will be closely monitoring trading activity for its impact on the process of futures contracts’ price discovery.”

“So what’s happening today then?”

“The Pan Atlantic Commodities Exchange is meeting to go over its own review of bitcoin trading, and establish whether or not they will treat this financial instrument as a currency or a commodity before certification. They plan to offer it for trade to its own participants in the first quarter of 2018.”

Carmen sighed. “My sweet boff.”

Tom flushed with pleasure, and his chest puffed up with pride. “Thank you,” he said with utmost sincerity.

Carmen let out a laugh that startled the nervous looking woman standing behind her at the crosswalk. They let the woman precede them when the road was clear and it was time to cross. “Maybe you should attend this meeting in my place.”

Tom looked down at his clothes, which were too casual for a day-long meeting in the City. “I don’t think I’m dressed for that.”

“A shame,” said Carmen. “You should have as big an audience as possible for this particular Tom Talk.”

“Tom Talk?”

“Whenever you get to tomsplaining about something…” said Carmen with a grin. “I call it a Tom Talk. Like a Ted Talk only, you know, you’re usually at home talking to me. And you don’t wear one of those headset microphones to do it.”

“Now wait a minute!” Tom crouched down, preferring to carry Bobby to cross the main road to the train station. Facing Carmen, he tried not to pout.

“Oh don’t look so cross,” she said mischievously. In her eyes was that wicked little gleam, the one Tom remembered from the first time they met. The one that said, _Oh ho, isn’t he a handful?_ but also _Maybe more like two handfuls_. She cleared her throat. “It’s why I love you. Channeling your tendency towards pomposity into something that will not only make you look good but help humanity as we know it.”

“I think you’re getting carried away,” groused Tom. He only looked slightly mollified when the dog, still being held snugly against his chest, licked Tom’s face.

“Can you blame me?” Carmen stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ve got London’s foremost amateur bitcoin trading expert at home…” She laughed when when Tom frowned. “Love you, Tom.”

“Good luck, Carmen,” he replied, and returned the kiss. He waited patiently for Bobby to kiss her as well, and then watched her retreat into the busy train station before turning back towards home.

* * *

It was Tiffany Cross’s first morning at reception, and it could not have been a more trying time. So many visitors, self-important in expensive suits that still didn’t fit right, barking when their badges were too slow to print from the machine that whirred just to the left of her station. Office assistants emerged from the lifts to escort VIP’s in groups of five down to the old trading floor. Where once there was pit trading executed by crowds of people (usually men), buying and selling millions of shares using nothing more than hand signals, was now a sleek auditorium that looked like something out of _Star Trek_.

The visitors reappeared after an hour, streaming out of the lifts once the big meeting had ended. Most of them looked pleased, clutching prospectuses while around them younger staffers tapped away at their phones. Some tried to catch Tiffany’s eye, making small talk as they returned their badges if they were leaving the exchange premises. But as most of them were older than her grandfather, she demurred.

The reception desk had been supplied with a binder of photographs so Tiffany and her colleague could greet guests by name, but they all looked the same to her. Grey hair, ruddy faces, real teeth that was tobacco stained or veneers and dentures that were conspicuously white. These men liked the sight of Tiffany, fresh out of college and new to the city.

She knew they did. She had shiny new blond hair, blue contacts that looked natural in certain lights, and a generous bosom that strained at the front of her Topshop dress. Tiffany didn’t plan to work there for long. Just enough to catch the eye of a hopefully young Oxbridge educated banker who would whisk her away to a tidy pile in Surrey. They’d have three children — Oliver, Charlotte, and Jessica — and a plain-faced German or Spanish au pair to look after them. Tiffany envisioned matching SUV’s, and regular nail appointments. Two weeks every summer in Spain, and every Christmas would see them in a chalet in the Alps.

Tiffany was about to fetch a coffee when her colleague, Ruth Paget, nipped to the toilets. While she waited for Ruth to return, Tiffany a copy of her favorite tabloid from her handbag. The magazine, like every other glossy in the United Kingdom, had devoted all of its pages to news concerning Prince Harry and his American fiancée, the actress Meghan Markle. Tiffany couldn’t get enough of them, the handsome prince and his beautiful bride. She paid no mind to the naysayers who accused the future Duchess of being a rank social climber. If an American divorcee could bag a member of the Royal Family, anything was possible.

So engrossed was the young secretary that she didn’t hear the gentleman approach her station. Nor did she hear when he politely cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. It was only when he spoke — a soft “Pardon? I don’t mean to bother…” — that she froze, head still bent over the page. She knew that voice. Warm and soothing, just a touch nasal and entirely sexy. Tiffany closed the magazine, took a deep breath, and looked up to find him smiling down at her. Was it really him?

Curly, almost unruly fair-ish sort of ginger hair? Check.

Bright blue eyes? Check.

High, impossibly sharp cheekbones? Check.

Neat beard? Check.

“Good morning.”

_That voice!_

“Tom Hiddleston!” She practically shrieked, making the handsome man take a small yet noticeable step back from her desk.

“Erm, I’m here to visit…”

“I just think you’re _amazing_ ,” gushed Tiffany. She fumbled for her mobile, which sat on her desk. “Can I…?”

Tom looked abashed, bringing his hand to rub at the nape of his neck. “Sorry…” He squinted at the nameplate on her desk. “Tiffany Cross?”

“You know my name!” She squealed. When he indicated her nameplate, she just squealed.

“Well, ah,” replied Tom. “I don’t have an appointment, but I was wondering if I could get upstairs to see…”

“You know somebody who works here?!” Tiffany was astonished. “Who?”

“Carmen DiGregorio. She’s a vice president, for digital, I believe.” Tom took out his wallet and began to go through it. “Do you need ID? I’ve got my driving license.”

“I’ll take that.” They were now joined by Ruth, back from the toilets and seemingly not flustered by the sight of Tom Hiddleston standing at her desk. Tiffany watched the sensible older woman take Tom’s license and run it through a scanner. “If I may say, sir, it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Hiddleston.”

“Likewise, Ms. Paget.” Tom smiled at Ruth.

“Tiffany will ring up to Ms. DiGregorio’s office,” Ruth said.

“Thanks,” replied Tom, reassured by Ruth’s brisk manner.

“Tiffany?” Ruth indicated at the VIP binder. “I think you’ll find Ms. DiGregorio’s extension there. Unless you’d like me to take care of that, too?”

“Nuh-no,” stammered Tiffany. She flipped through the book, finding the PACE employees grouped towards the back then sorted alphabetically by surname. Carmen’s entry read as follows:

**DiGregorio, Carmen Paloma**

**Department: Corporate Marketing and Communications**

**Title: Senior Vice President, Digital Strategy and Content**

Tiffany lingered on the picture, wondering how someone as handsome and glamorous as Tom Hiddleston could be there to see someone who looked so serious. She punched in the number and waited.

“I could just call her myself,” Tom offered.

“No worries, Mr. Hiddleston,” replied Ruth. “We’ve got it sorted.”

“Right,” said Tiffany, listening to the line ring over the speakerphone.

“Hello!” Carmen chirped.

“Yes, Miss DiGregorio?” Tiffany answered. “This is Tiffany at reception.”

“Am I on speaker?” Carmen sounded more amused than annoyed.

“Ahem, sorry.” Ruth fumbled for the receiver, grabbing it to press to her left ear. “Apologies for that, Ms. DiGregorio. We’re training a new secretary.” She nodded, smiling to herself. “Ma’am, you have a visitor. Mr. Hiddleston.” She nodded again, then began to type at her terminal. “I’ll send him up.” As soon as she hung up, a fresh badge was printed for Tom.

He accepted his ID and new badge from Ruth. “Twenty first floor, correct?”

Ruth stepped out from behind the desk. “I’ll show you to the lift.”

Tiffany didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until Tom looked at her again. He said goodbye, pausing for a moment for her to reply. When she didn’t, for she could only smile and be dazzled by his handsomeness, Tom followed Ruth.

When Ruth returned, Tiffany grabbed her arm. “Tom Hiddleston!”

“Yes,” said Ruth patiently.

“We just met Tom Hiddleston!” Tiffany gripped her mobile. “Do you think he’ll stop for a picture on the way out?”

“No,” Ruth said.

“But he seems so nice,” gushed Tiffany. “I’m sure he would.”

“Maybe if he were here on business?” Ruth shook her head. “Even then…”

“Why would he come here?” Tiffany peered at the binder again. “Who is Ms. DiGregorio…”

Ruth reached over, taking the binder away. “She is a personal friend of Mr. Hiddleston.”

“Wow,” said Tiffany dreamily. “Maybe she’ll give me a proper introduction.”

Ruth rolled her eyes, and busied herself with filing.

Half an hour later, Tiffany saw her opportunity. It was midday, and the lobby was full of people streaming out of the building for lunch. Eyes trained on the lift, Tiffany sat up straight when she saw Tom come out. Walking alongside him was an Asian woman, medium height and heavy in build. She wore her black hair in a long bob that curled around her shoulders. Her bright red lipstick was precisely applied, and her mouth moved quickly as she and Tom talked. Carmen looked livelier, more interesting than her photograph in the directory.

Tom and Carmen walked close, but not too close. They both had their hands in their pockets, funnily enough. Tiffany knew better than to run over and intercept them but maybe if they crossed the lobby, exited through the revolving door closest to her desk, she’d get a chance.

And they did make their exit nearby. Even better, Tom locked eyes with her as they walked past. He and Carmen gave a friendly wave to Ruth. Ruth nodded, then went back to her tasks. Tom graced Tiffany with a tentative smile, who thought she might faint when he did. She got a better look at Carmen before they left, noting that while her coat, bag, and shoes were conservative and plain, they did appear to be expensive. Tiffany’s eyes followed them outside, where they came to a halt on the plaza.

Carmen said something, smiling when Tom laughed. Tom took his hands out of his pockets before offering one arm for her to hold while he lifted the other to hail a black cab. She accepted it, clasping both hands around his forearm. And though she was yards away, Tiffany could not miss the bright, white flash of a diamond on Carmen’s ring finger. She was still looking when Tom gave Carmen a quick peck on the lips before they climbed into a taxi and sped away.

Tiffany turned back to face Ruth, who was looking at her computer.

“Personal friend?” She grumbled.

“Yes,” Ruth affirmed.

“She was wearing a ring, Ruth.”

“Was she?” Ruth frowned, then tapped a few keys on her keyboard.

“She was wearing an engagement ring!”

“Oh?” Ruth grinned. “Good for them.”

“First Meghan and Harry, now Carmen and Tom,” said Tiffany. “Who are all these American girls coming over here and taking all the good men?”

Ruth tapped the cover of Tiffany’s magazine. “That’s two couples, Ms. Cross. Hardly an epidemic.”

Tiffany pouted. “And he didn’t stop for a photo.”

“I reckon he wanted to spend time with his fiancée,” Ruth explained.

“Maybe he’ll walk her back after lunch?” Tiffany said hopefully.

“You know, Tiffany, they need help in the archives. Filing all the quarterly reports.” Ruth arched an eyebrow.

Tiffany understood the meaning of that eyebrow. “Why don’t you show me how to work the phones instead?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Carmen indulge in lunch at an upscale restaurant, then work off the calories with some "exercise".

Tom and Carmen sat in the back of a black cab, she enjoying the view while he frowned at the meter and tried not to be horrified by the inevitable astronomic fare.

“So you’re buying lunch, right?” Carmen narrowed her eyes at Tom.

Tom sighed. “Of course.”

When she caught sight of the ever increasing fare, she blanched. Reaching for Tom’s hand, she shook her head.

“Maybe I should treat instead,” she suggested. “If I could just figure out a way to write it off as a business expense.”

“Speaking of which, are you still going to try to claim Bobby as a dependent on your taxes next year?” Tom grinned.

“Maybe,” replied Carmen. “But back to this lunch. Should I call up your agent to let him know you’re taking a meeting with me? I could make up something about the exchange searching for a mascot.”

Tom immediately pictured himself in a suit, hair stiff and immovable as he walked and talked in front of computer animated figures and graphs. He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s right for me.”

“Who was talking about you?” Carmen said with mock indignance. “I think Bobby would be perfect for the job.”

“Brat!” Tom growled. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Fine,” Carmen sang. “As long as you’re still taking care of lunch.”

“Naturally.”

“So where are you taking me then?” Carmen looked out the window, taking note of the restaurants they passed. “If you wanted to take me to Nando’s, it’s in the other direction.”

“We are not going to Nando’s,” replied Tom. “It’s a place mum read about.”

“Yeah?” Carmen smiled. “Are we scouting it out for her next visit, then?”

“Actually, she thought we could have the engagement party there.”

“Does that mean fancy, Cambridge?”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Tom trailed off as the taxi slowed, pulling up to a pair of heavy wrought iron gates. The gates parted, permitting entry to the black cab which pulled forward into an elaborately decorated courtyard. When Carmen squeezed his hand, Tom looked back at her.

“Definitely not Nando’s,” she joked.

The Mirror Room at The Rosewood was everything a restaurant at a luxury hotel should be. Formal enough for the groups of businessmen who came in to make deals over steaks, but not so stuffy that pampered housewives loaded down with Christmas shopping couldn’t pop in for salads and large glasses of white wine.

Even in a sophisticated space the presence of a legitimate movie star did not go unnoticed, so Carmen drew herself up, holding her chin a bit higher as Gordon Andrew, the hotel’s special events manager, showed them to a banquette in the center of the room.

“This is beautiful…” Carmen trailed off as she looked after Mr. Andrew’s retreating figure.

“But?” Tom asked. He caught sight of a pat of butter molded into the shape of a rose. “Flower-shaped butter? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Carmen picked up her empty dinner plate, examining in the light the gilt edges and embossing. “Is this gold?”

“You think it’s too much?” Tom sighed. “I knew Mum would get carried away.”

“I love that she wanted someplace special for us.” Carmen set the plate down. “But it is rather elaborate.”

“I would have thought a senior vice president at a major commodities exchange would be used to this sort of thing.”

“Or a major movie star…” Carmen sang to Tom, whose cheeks reddened. “Oh stop being so modest, baby.”

It was when they were tucking into their salads, organic greens and toasted nuts, candy sweet berries in a piquant dressing, when Carmen was overcome with a sense of deja vu. She sat there, wrestling with the feeling, even as Tom prattled on about the meal, peppering the waiters with questions as samples of their most popular dishes were brought out for tasting. Miniature lamb chops and bites of seafood salad. Baby vegetables grilled in artisanal oils and, for dessert, French pastries that resembled the abstract art that hung on the walls.

She looked at him, not tasting her food as she watched him eat his. Tom ate elegantly and enthusiastically, taking care not to talk while he chewed but also somehow managing to deliver an extended history of the  _ entremet _ between bites. Cheeks rosy and eyes bright, Tom was in his element. And when Carmen solved the minor problem of her deja vu, she couldn’t help interrupting his speech with a bright, sparkling fit of laughter.

Tom smiled, a little concerned. “Are you well, Carmen?”

“Yeah, I’m fuh-fine.” And then she laughed again. “Sorry.”

“Care to share the joke?”

“I just got the feeling I’d been here before. Well, not here, precisely. But this feeling, this sense of…” She looked at her hands. “Sitting down to this beautiful, pristine meal. And then you cut in, Mister Know-It-All, going on about  _ entremets _ and Old French culinary techniques.”

Tom sniffed. “I had some time to research the menu this morning after I spoke to mum.”

“Of course you did,” Carmen said in her best consoling tone.

Tom glared at her over his wine glass.

“Oh don’t be like that.”

“Like what?’

“Like…” Carmen’s eyes grew soft at the memory. “The day we met,” she said fondly. “I had lunch with the donors beforehand. Very nice but I left hungry. I had a salad instead of the burger I wanted. And then there you were, in my library, standing there looking like you owned the place.”

_ “Your _ library?” Tom protested.

“And then you were so defensive.” Carmen began helping herself to his dessert. “Just because you went to Cambridge.”

“Well, it’s not as though you had to lead them all in picking on me,” Tom pointed out.

“I wouldn’t have kept it up if you had let at least one other person ask a question when we got to the stacks…”

“They were practically asleep!” Tom exclaimed. “How was I supposed to learn anything unless  _ somebody _ asked questions that weren’t just about how much everything cost?”

“And then you got us kicked out.” Carmen shook her head.

“No, it was you.”

“Really, Tom?”

“Yes,” said Tom, his voice crisp. “Really.”

Carmen looked incredulous. “Even all this time, you still think it was my fault?”

“Your library,” said Tom smugly. “Your fault.”

“You know,” said Carmen, taking his dessert. “As my fiancé, as a gentleman, you should at least share the blame with me.”

Tom frowned as he watched Carmen eat his dessert. “She says, as she takes my pudding.”

“Well,” said Carmen, triumphantly waving her spoon in the air. “My fault. My pudding.”

Tom sat back, tossed his napkin onto the tabletop, and took a good look around the room. It was luxurious, and the service was impeccable. The food and drink was delectable, among the finest he had ever tasted. Watching Carmen tuck into his pudding, he could only smile at her obvious, energetic delight.

When she caught him looking at her, she smiled. “What?”

Tom shrugged, but said nothing.

Carmen ran her finger through what was left of her chocolate mousse, then placed it gently upon the center of his bottom lip. When he opened his mouth, he nipped at her fingertip before tasting the chocolate.

“This place is perfect,” said Tom.

“But I think it’s too perfect,” Carmen declared.

“Too posh,” Tom replied.

“Too shiny.”

“Too  _ much.” _

“I look around, and all I can think of is seating charts.” Carmen looked at Tom, then shrugged. “You can’t relax when there’s a seating chart.”

“Besides, where would we put the karaoke machine?” Tom said.

“Exactly!” Carmen placed her hands on either side of his face, pulling Tom in to kiss the tip of his nose. “See? This is why I’m marrying you. Only a very special person would know that we need one.”

“Also we’re [still banned](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12684561/chapters/29322861)  from the Brazen Monkey,” replied Tom, gravely. “Because we’re karaoke outcasts.”

Carmen sniffed. “I prefer to think of us as karaoke outlaws.”

* * *

Tom accompanied Carmen back to work, explaining, as they exited the elevator and walked to her office, that he had mislaid his gloves. Making a show of patting down his pockets, he frowned.

“Well, I’m sure it’s in my office somewhere,” Carmen said, patiently. “Or if not there, the hotel? Mr. Andrew said he would ring me if they turned up.”

“Of course,” replied Tom. “I just really liked them.”

“I could tell.” Carmen’s eyes sparkled. “They looked like they were on the verge of falling apart.”

“I broke them in perfectly,” Tom explained, ignoring the slight.

“But if we don’t find them, does that mean I can get you new ones for Christmas?”

Carmen showed Tom into her office. She removed her coat and tossed it over a chair, not noticing when he quietly closed and locked the door behind him. Leaning against it, he watched her do a sweep. Examining piles of folders, looking in a few cartons, and even getting down on her knees to peek under her desk.

“Tom?” She asked, still underneath. When he didn’t immediately reply, she unfolded, holding onto the edge of the desk even as she still knelt on the floor. A curious smile curled her lips when she saw that Tom had removed his coat, and in his left hand held a pair of worn leather gloves.

“Found them,” he murmured.

Carmen nodded. “Where were they?”

Her eyes followed him, her body shifting into a seated position when Tom came around the desk and took a seat in her chair. He placed his hands on his thighs, planted his feet on the ground, and pushed back. When she dared to touch his knee with her hand, he gently slapped it away.

“Not yet, madame,” Tom said, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“Not yet, what?” Carmen asked.

“Not until you admit it was you who got us kicked out of the library.”

“You are so petty, Tom,” scoffed Carmen.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Tom drawled.

“Fuck you!”

“All in due time,” Tom said, seriously.

Carmen sat back, planting her hands behind her so she could lean, and think. Crossing her legs, she rubbed them against each other and watched as her skirt crumpled up and crept up her thighs.

“So what do I get?” Carmen peered up at him. “If I confess?”

“I shall allow you to suck me off,” Tom replied grandly.

“Big deal,” Carmen said, tossing her head back. “What do I get if I don’t?”

“What makes you think you’ll get anything if you don’t?” Tom shrugged. “I could just get up, walk out. Leave you high and dry.”

“Doubtful,” Carmen rejoined, eyeing the front of his trousers. “You’re about to burst out of those.”

In an attempt to alleviate the pressure, Tom shifted. But the friction just made it worse, and Carmen knew it. When he was unable to stifle the moan that escaped from his lips, she laughed.

“I will ask you again, Tom.” Carmen got back on her knees and crawled forward. Kneeling between his legs, she sat back and began to toy with a button on the front of her blouse. “If I confess, what do I ge—”

Tom pounced, pushing the chair back as he knelt down and grabbed her arms. He leaned in close so Carmen could feel his heavy breaths on her ear.

“If you confess,” Tom whispered. “I’ll shag you right into the floor.”

Carmen laughed. “You couldn’t have waited until we got home? Where we have, you know, a bed?”

“I can’t wait,” Tom said simply. “I refuse to wait.” He released her, reaching around so he could pull her hair to the side. Neck now exposed, he nipped at the soft skin with his teeth. He soothed the same spot by kissing it. “I’m still hungry.”

Carmen took advantage of the closeness, the nearness of him, to push Tom onto his back. She straddled him at the waist, running her hands up to his neck as she thought about what to do.

“If you admit it was you and your utter pomposity that got us kicked out of that library, then I will gladly suck you off.”

“Isn’t that what I just offered you, Button, in exchange for your confession?”

Carmen leaned forward, planting her hands on his chest. She smiled at him and said: “Yes, but…”

Tom squirmed. “What?”

Carmen slipped a finger into his mouth, waiting until he closed his lips around it and sucked lightly. “If you accept responsibility, then I’ll suck you off…” She crept up and whispered, just next to his ear: “I’ll suck you off, and let you come.”

“Wait…” Tom sputtered, trying to talk about Carmen’s finger, which was withdrawing from his mouth. Before he could continue, she covered his mouth with her hands. She saw one of his gloves lying on the floor next to his head.

Tom watched her as she reached over, took the glove, and neatly folded it in half. Again, she pried his mouth open, delicately, with her finger. She tucked the glove in, just past his lips and released it when he took in his teeth.

“Is this okay, baby?” Carmen waited, watching Tom’s eyes as he nodded. The pupils were wide, watchful, but she saw no fear.

“Can you breathe?”

Tom nodded again.

“Are you sure?” Carmen asked.

In reply, Tom ran a hand up her arm, along her shoulder, then up to cup her jaw. He nodded.

“I love you, Tom,” Carmen said. Eyes still on his face, she pushed back and resumed her kneeling position. Only now instead of looming over her from a chair, smug and proud, he was laid out before her on the floor.

Legs akimbo, Tom let his hands rest on his stomach. They rose and fell as he breathed, but otherwise did not move. Not when Carmen ran her hands up the insides of his thighs, or gently squeezed his hard cock.

Carmen unbuckled his belt, flinging the two ends apart before she unbuttoned his fly. Her nails scraped but did not scratch his hips when she reached closed her fingers around the waist of his trousers. Pulling slowly, she worked with Tom as he pivoted his hips, bracing himself a little so he could lift up and ease his undressing. But she didn’t take them off. Carmen got his trousers and boxer briefs as far as his knees before she stopped, looked up at Tom, and began to unbutton her blouse.

A prim blouse with a high neck rendered in silk. It cost Carmen a small fortune so she put it aside carefully. She was about to fling off her bra when she smiled at Tom again, running her thumb under one of the straps.

“Tom, should I…?”

Before he could reply, with a groan or a grunt or some sound that communicated “Hurry up, woman, and wrap your sweet lips around my cock already,” Carmen pulled the cups down to expose her bare breasts. When Tom whimpered, she moved up slowly to settle between his legs.

The touch of her hand on his cock, which was flushed and stiff against his bare abdomen, was soft. Closing her fingers around the shaft, she barely stroked it as she took the head into her warm, wet mouth.

Outside clouds had shifted so a beam of sunlight made its way into the room. Tom watched tiny motes and specks of dust float through the air, dull one moment and golden the next. But only for a second, for he had to close his eyes. Otherwise, his surrender to Carmen would not be complete.

The soft  _ ptu _ sound of her spitting, and then her hand again, this time slick and so it moved faster. Up and down, then around, and all the while her mouth sucked. Just on the head, where her tongue swirled around and around, over and over again. And when Tom relaxed, she would stop then press her tongue just to the underside. His moans of surprised pleasure muffled by the leather glove, which was beginning to feel warmer and more natural against his own tongue.

He was taken aback by the feeling of cool air on the tip as Carmen released him. Just from her mouth, though, as her hand continued to hold him at the shaft. Hold, squeeze, stroke. Hold, squeeze, stroke. One hand, then two, and then her mouth was on him again. Swallowing and sucking.

When Tom dared to look down, Carmen could feel it. The effort of muscles working to lift his head, then his upper back off the floor. She looked up and returned her gaze, mouth still on him. Still licking only slower. If he was going to look, she was going to give him a show. The loss of intensity in feeling, however fleeting, was replaced by the image. Dark hair falling haphazard around her face. Eyes glittering with thirst. Her puckered lips closing around his cock, kissing and sucking until he thrust up. Filled up her mouth so her hands began to massage his balls and his inner thighs.

_ Fuck _ , he thought.  _ Fuck. _

Tom let his head fall back, and his eyes closed automatically. Her pace quickened but in his mind, he still wondered. Would she let him come? Could she suck harder, lick faster? The leather in his mouth was musky, its scent becoming stronger as his breathing became rapid and desperate. He wanted to yell for her but instead he grit his teeth, biting into the glove just as her hands stroked faster and her lips sucked harder and his cock went further into her mouth. Tom couldn’t control his hips, the spasms that wracked them, so Carmen moved her hands. Held him down as her mouth swallowed him completely.

And when he did come, without warning because how could he possibly?, she dug her nails into his hips. She rode his body as it crested, crashed, and fell through the climax. Mouth now slack, she released his cock from her lips. But she needed grounding, so Carmen pressed her face into his right thigh, kept pressing until she bit. And then everything was still.

Tom just lay there. Breathing around the glove which felt, if not natural, then certainly good in his mouth. He was aware of sweat — under his arms, at his brow, between his legs — and how overheated he felt. He tried to move when he felt Carmen shift away. He followed the sound of her moving around the room, then saw as she crawled up next to him.

“Baby, c’mere,” she said, so sweetly. She pried the glove from his mouth, dropping it on the floor. There was a bottle of water, cool and refreshing, and she placed it in his hands.

Tom was slow to sit up, but he managed it somehow. He watched, wordless, as Carmen ripped off her ruined stockings. She used them to clean herself off, then him. After she did, Tom managed to pull his trousers back up on his own. He took another drink of water, then handed the bottle to Carmen before lying down again. She finished the water, then crawled alongside, and rested her head on his chest.

“It was my fault,” said Tom. “My fault we got kicked out.”

Carmen laughed, kissing his chest as she did so he could feel her. “You know I couldn’t care less about whose fault it was, right?”

“Then why did you put me through…?” Tom began to ask.

“Because it’s fun,” she said with a smile. “To tease you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Tom retorted.

“To tease you. To taste you. To play with you.” She blinked at him. “And you let me. Because you trust me.”

“I do, Button,” said Tom. “I love you.”

“I know.” She scooted up. “And you know I was always right about it being your fault in the first fucking place.”

“Minx!” Tom pulled her up, close, and buried his nose in her hair.

“Prig,” she muttered, smiling. “Asshole. Jerk.”

Tom gently bit her cheek. “Mine.”

She nodded in agreement. “Yes,” Carmen said. “Mine.”


End file.
